Life in Vegas || Brendon Urie

Chapter 48

A week or so passed. Renovations to the house had started; the repairs were coming along quickly and easily. Brendon was finally sent home from the hospital, but was still sick. Most of the time, he slept. When he wasn't sleeping, he was still getting his plans in line for his tour.

I watched him one day as he carried stuff out to his car to load onto the bus, which was parked at the studio.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"No," he huffed, struggling with a box full of metal drum kit pieces.

I grimaced and picked up a box behind him. "You're going to exhaust yourself."

I followed him out to the car and loaded the box into the trunk. He got into the driver's seat, and I followed pursuit into the passenger seat.

"What are you doing?" Brendon grumbled.

"I'm helping you," I shot. "You're overexerting yourself, it's making you tired and now you're grumpy. You realize the doctor didn't clear you to go on tour?"

"Yes, I know that Kendall. But I can't just call in sick. It's a tour."

"I know that Brendon," I mocked him. "But you should be careful. It's better for you to reserve yourself now than to have to cancel a show down the road because you didn't listen to your doctor."

Brendon didn't respond. He simply stared at the road and kept driving. I took a deep breath and grabbed his hand that was resting on the gear shift.

"I'm sorry I keep nagging you. I just want you to feel better," I said quietly.

"I know," he said, a hint of humor hiding behind his tone.

"Six months without you is going to kill me," complained. "I'm going to be bored out of my mind. And lonely."

"You can still come with," he offered.

I shrugged. "I just don't want to bother you."

Brendon shrugged back. "It's not my first tour. If it was, then I probably wouldn't have you come with. But I've been around a couple times now, and I wouldn't mind the company. The hotel rooms and tour busses get quiet."

"I don't know," I mumbled.

Brendon didn't push me. He knew that I felt uncomfortable about going. Truthfully, I really wanted to go, but I felt like I would be a bother to him and probably distract him.

The remainder of the day was spent taking trips back and forth to and from Brendon's studio, packing boxes. With the last few loads of boxes, I grew more and more saddened. In a few days, the house would be quiet and void of Brendon's mindless singing and strange noises. Brendon seemed to pick up on this. When we got home, he sat on a bar stool and gave me a look that said, "I know what you're thinking."

"Come here," he invited me. I walked to him slowly and placed myself in the embrace of his tall frame. Brendon encased me in his arms and kissed the side of my head. "Why are you so sad?"

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I guess I just don't want you to leave."

"I told you -"

"I know, I can come if I want to," I interrupted him. He glared at me for a second. He hates it when I interrupt. "I'm not coming with you. I would be in the way."

"I'm not having this argument with you," Brendon sighed into my hair.

Irritation bubbled up in me, and suddenly, I wanted out of his grasp and away from him. The reason I was so angry without forewarning was unknown to me. However, as I tried to break free, Brendon tightened his hold and laughed.